


The Leaving Suburbia Affair

by xisney



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xisney/pseuds/xisney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon considers Illya’s broodiness when they are about to leaving suburbia in “The Suburbia Affair” episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Leaving Suburbia Affair

**Author's Note:**

> There's some sexually explicit art with at the end of this post!

Betsy Wilson, Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin, and Mr. Waverly stepped out of Mr. Willoughby’s hospital room. Without looking directly at Illya, Napoleon said, “Maybe we should try out that Danish restaurant instead. How long do soufflés take? An hour?”

“Recipe says forty-five minutes,” Illya said.

“Do you really want to slave over the oven for an hour while the three of us sit in the living room and chat?” Napoleon asked.

Illya thinned his lips and gave Napoleon a cold stare. With her blue eyes shifting between them, Betsy said, “You know, Napoleon does make a good point. As much as I would like to try Illya’s soufflé, and as much as I believe he can pull off an excellent one, it hardly seems fair to him.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” Illya said.

With a huff, Mr. Waverly said, “I hardly want to listen to Mr. Solo complain all night about preferring to eat Danish food, and either way we will receive nothing but a sullen expression from Mr. Kuryakin since Mr. Solo will push his buttons wherever we decide to eat.”

Mr. Solo smirked and raised his eyebrows at Illya, receiving an eye roll from the Russian agent. “So we spend our last night in the Suburbs in a city restaurant,” Illya said.

“THRUSH blew up our kitchen this morning, Illya,” Napoleon said. “It’ll hardly be in any shape to prepare a meal.”

“We could have tea afterwards,” Betsy said. “Either at my place or yours, if it’s in enough shape for company.”

“That sounds lovely,” Mr. Waverly said, smiling. “So it is decided.”

Illya said, “If you will excuse me, I think I’ll just return to the house to start cleaning it.”

“Oh, Illya, don’t be like that,” Betsy said, squeezing his arm.

Illya gave the girl a soft smile and said, “It has been a long day, Miss. Wilson. I will try to join everyone for tea after dinner.”

With that, Illya excused himself and went on his way. Napoleon frowned and followed the other two out of the building, with Mr. Waverly making most of the conversation. Napoleon knew Illya was hardly traumatized by being kidnapped by THRUSH or even by being blown up by a loaf of bread earlier that morning. He wondered if it was being in Suburbia that ruffled the agent’s feathers.

It was, of course, a very American way of life, and the Russian clearly struggled to fit into that tight mould. But Napoleon thought it could have been more than that. When they came back to their temporary home after the town meeting the night before, Illya had put his hand over Napoleon’s when Napoleon tried to turn on the light. The Russian murmured, “Remember, the lights are what makes us so aggressive and angry. We should leave them off.”

Napoleon smiled and said, “But what could we do in the dark?”

Illya pushed Napoleon against the door, brushing his lips against his partner’s. Still not quite kissing him, Illya pressed his leg between Napoleon’s. His blue eyes watched the American agent’s face, and Napoleon placed his hands on Illya’s hips, drawing him closer. Illya said, “Did you go through the trouble of making our beds? Or did you forget that like the eggs?”

“I made the beds,” Napoleon said. In fact, they were already made when Napoleon checked on them, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Illya.

“Then we shouldn’t mess them both up,” Illya said, “when one will work fine for us.”

With a smirk, Napoleon tried to sound offended when he said, “What are you suggesting?”

“I suggest removing your clothes and relaxing on the bed,” Illya replied in his mechanical way. “When I join you, I will kiss the tip of your erection and gradually take it into my mouth. I assume you will softly exhale in the way you always do, and then I will gently press my finger into your ass.”

Illya raised his leg to put more pressure on Napoleon’s groin. Napoleon licked his lips, but when he tried to kiss Illya, the Russian pulled his head away. Napoleon waited, and Illya leaned close to him again, brushing his lips against Napoleon’s as he continued.

“I suppose I’ll continue with that for a while, since you tend to squirm and shiver when I do both to you. So my tongue will drift down your shaft while my finger curls inside your ass,” Illya murmured. “And then when I start to taste you, I will pull away.”

With his hands still on Illya’s hips, Napoleon pulled the Russian agent closer. He nuzzled him, watching Illya’s blue eyes through his eyelashes. His cock throbbed against Illya’s leg, and he thought even a kiss from him could send him over the edge. Illya ran his hands across Napoleon’s chest as if smoothing out his suit.

“Next, I will pull you against me by your hips, so your ass is up against my erection,” Illya purred. “I will probably tease you by rubbing my shaft between the cheeks of your ass before finally pushing into you.”

Placing his fingers under Napoleon’s chin, Illya kissed the American agent gently. Napoleon wrapped his arms around Illya, hugging him close and kissing back, just as softly. “Then what will you do to me?” Napoleon murmured.

Raising a brow, Illya replied, “Why don’t you find out?”

And of course Napoleon did, and everything went according to plan, with Illya sucking, fingering, and finally fucking him. Napoleon stayed lying back on the bed while Illya thrusted into him again and again. Napoleon groaned for more, rubbing Illya’s arm and shoulder with his ankles hooked behind Illya’s back. Illya watched him eagerly, his mouth slightly open with only a few groans and gasps slipping out from his own mouth.

Napoleon was still stiff from it, and his cock was almost stiff again just thinking about it.

He walked a few a paces behind Betsy Wilson and Mr. Waverly, half-listening to their conversation while he considered Illya’s grumpy, albeit characteristic, behaviour. He wondered if part of it was them leaving the suburbs. As out of place as Illya probably felt, it still meant they could be together and intimate, living a domestic life together while still balancing their UNCLE responsibilities on the side.

So throughout dinner Napoleon contemplated Illya’s broodiness, trying to be himself while still putting the weight of the conversation on Betsy and Mr. Waverly. Napoleon knew he would miss the opportunity to be with Illya, and he decided that Illya wanted some time to himself to think the matter out and accept the quick return to their old lifestyle. Hurried lovemaking in hotel rooms. Trying to squeeze time together in New York in one apartment or the other. Balancing their relationship with other partners and work. Addressing and accepting the times when they strayed from the other. Subtle flirtations, glances, and touches. Office rumours. And the overwhelming fear the other would die on the job while the other was helpless.

Certainly a house in the suburbs wouldn’t remove all of those complications, but it did mean a space where they would be together – a place of their own where they could be themselves. Where Napoleon could read quietly without the pressure of charming someone. Where Illya could talk freely when he wanted to. Where they could touch and kiss and nip and grope and grind. Where they could cuddle quietly and unwind.

But it wasn’t something their job would allow. Certainly the fate of the world was more important than their romance.

Nonetheless, the thoughts weighed down on Napoleon throughout dinner, and by the end of the evening, he struggled to keep the conversation moving and his smiles and laughs anything but forced. He genuinely liked Betsy, and he wanted to be friendly and polite. Whenever she inquired about his mood, he and Mr. Waverly wrote it off on the stress of the day and the job.

So when it was time for tea, Napoleon excused himself. He said he wanted to help Illya clean the house, and he admitted he felt guilty for letting his partner do the work alone. He promised if they had time, they would stop in, and that they would definitely say goodbye before they left the following morning.

Betsy seemed satisfied, and Napoleon walked around his temporary home to enter through the backdoor.

Napoleon stepped into the kitchen to see Illya scrubbing dishes in nothing but a pink apron, the same apron Betsy Wilson wore the previous night. Closing the curtain in the kitchen, he smiled and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Dishes,” Illya said. “The soufflé is on the kitchen table.”

Napoleon turned around to see a perfect soufflé on the table. With his dish gloves dripping wet, Illya turned around and said, “You also said the other day that I wouldn’t look nearly as good in an apron. I thought I would prove you wrong.”

Napoleon let his eyes wander across Illya’s muscular form, the apron tied around his waist to cover his cock. The Russian turned around, exposing his ass, to continue with the dishes. Napoleon said, “I was definitely wrong.”

He cupped Illya’s ass in his hands, and his cock pulsed in response. Giving his partner’s ass a squeeze, he breathed in Illya’s straw blond hair. Illya said, “You should try the soufflé.”

Napoleon pulled away from Illya and noticed the spatula on the drying rack. He remembered the way the Russian pressed it against his lips and stared at him the first time Napoleon tried to avoid his soufflé. Napoleon picked up the spatula, thinking of Illya’s thin lips around his cock. He gave Illya’s ass a quick slap with the spatula, and the Russian agent flinched and quickly snatched it out of his hand.

“Napoleon, I just washed that,” Illya said. He dropped it back into the sink.

With a smile, Napoleon stepped away and said, “Sorry,” as he took off his suit jacket. He didn’t bother to remove his shoulder holster, but he loosened his tie. Standing behind Illya, he gripped the Russian’s hips and pulled them towards him. He ground his pelvis against Illya’s ass and kissed his neck.

He murmured, “You remember how my loaf of raisin rye exploded on you?”

“It is not an event a will quickly forget,” Illya coolly replied.

“Well, I think I have something that needs to be disarmed.” Napoleon moved his hips up against Illya’s, making sure the Russian agent could feel his erection.

“Do you want me to dunk it in a bucket of cold water like I tried the first time?” Illya asked.

Napoleon smiled against his partner’s neck. “It might be worth letting this one go off.”

Napoleon rubbed Illya’s bare chest with one hand, teasing his nipple between two fingers when he reached it. He kissed Illya’s jaw and the Russian pressed back up against him. His other hand crept up Illya’s apron to gently stroke his cock. He watched Illya’s lips part and his eyes close. Napoleon squeezed his partner’s testicles and rubbed his groin up against Illya’s ass again.

“What do you think, Illya?” Napoleon asked against his ear. “Should we let this one go off?”

“Yes, I think so,” Illya murmured.

Illya opened a kitchen drawer to take out a bottle of lube. Napoleon almost laughed at his partner’s characteristic foresight and planning, but he released Illya to unbutton his pants and let them and his underwear drop to the floor. He took off his tie, tossing it with his suit jacket, and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt so he would feel Illya’s back against his chest. When he grabbed the bottle of lube, he noticed Illya’s erection lifting the apron upwards. He spread the lube across his fingers and onto his own cock.

Kissing the Russian’s neck, Napoleon pressed a finger into his ass. He started pumping it in and out of him slowly, watching the smile spread across Illya’s face. He slipped a second finger in. Squeezing Illya’s testicles with his other hand, he moved his fingers faster, letting them hit deeper. His hand moved to Illya’s shaft, jerking him off slowly while his fingers pumped roughly into him. Illya rose to the tips of his toes. Napoleon kissed his neck again.

Drawing his fingers out of Illya, Napoleon released his partner’s cock. Illya turned his head to look at him, and the American gently kissed him. Illya offered him a small smile, and Napoleon returned it. Gripping his own cock, Napoleon pressed it into Illya’s ass. Illya bucked back against him, forcing the American’s erection deeper into him.

Gripping Illya’s pelvis, Napoleon followed his lead and slammed deep into him. Illya rose to the tips of his toes again and spread his legs farther apart, letting Napoleon hit deeper with his second thrust. Keeping upright with a firm grip on the sink, the Russian gritted his teeth, and Napoleon repeated the thrust with a grunt. Napoleon started to move faster, panting against Illya’s ear and rubbing his chest against Illya’s back with every movement. His testicles slapped against Illya’s ass as he moved his partner’s pelvis against his rhythm.

Napoleon groaned, raising Illya’s apron with his wrist as he jerked him off. He kissed Illya’s ear, listening to his partner pant and feeling him shiver against him. Groaning freely, Napoleon continued slamming his cock into Illya as he moved his fist up around his shaft. He gasped Illya’s name, feeling the Russian agent’s semen spill onto his fingers. His own legs grew weak as he neared his climax. Illya slammed roughly back against his rhythm, eager to feel his partner finish inside of him.

Pumping quickly in and out of Illya, Napoleon jerked him off at the same merciless pace, keen to send Illya over the edge and hear him groan. Illya’s body shuddered against Napoleon’s, and the Russian agent finally gaspsed Napoleon’s name. Groaning, Napoleon shot his load into Illya’s ass, feeling his partner grind his ass against his pelvis as he finished.

Panting against Illya’s ear, Napoleon pulled out of him and sloppily continued to jerk him off. He kept his fist at the base of his cock, moving it quickly with short, sharp rhythms. Illya squirmed and bit his bottom lip, and Napoleon watched the wet spot spread against the apron. He pressed two fingers back into Illya’s ass, still slick with his orgasm, pumping them roughly in and out of him. Kissing Illya’s neck, Napoleon brushed his legs against the back of his partner’s.

Illya tightened his grip on the edge of the sink, moving his hips back against Napoleon’s fingers and then forward into his fist. Napoleon moved his fist and fingers faster, trying to keep his pace faster than Illya’s to send him over the edge. Napoleon watched heat rise to Illya’s cheeks, and his partner’s eyes squeezed shut as silent pants escaped from his parted lips. Napoleon kissed just under his partner’s jaw, and Illya finally came with a gasp against the cupboards and into the apron.

Panting, Illya tried to regain his composure. It didn’t help that Napoleon drifted his fingers down his chest. “I hope you don’t plan to leave all the cleaning in here for me,” Illya said, his eyes lingering on Napoleon’s.

“Of course not,” Napoleon replied.

Napoleon pulled away from Illya, who watched him with suspicion, and grabbed a dry washcloth from the counter. He ran the tap to cover it with clean water and then kneeled down in front of his partner. Once he untied Illya’s apron, he let it drop to the floor. Napoleon licked the tip of Illya’s soft cock before taking it into his mouth. When he pulled away, he kissed Illya’s pelvis and reached around to clean his ass and the back of his legs with the cloth.

He then rose back to his feet and pulled up his pants while he inspected Illya’s ass. He gave it a light slap, with Illya frowning, and then said, “Looks clean to me.”

Illya’s small, soft smile returned, and he propped his forehead against his partner’s to gently nuzzle him. Napoleon murmured, “I hope you don’t mind if I clean the cupboards and your apron in a more conventional manner.”

Illya grinned and returned to his dishes, confident and comfortable in his nudity. “Just don’t tire yourself out,” Illya said. Napoleon started to wipe down the front of the cupboards, feeling his sweat clinging to his dress shirt. Illya continued, “Because I thought we would just share one bed again. It would save us from having to tidy up too much tomorrow morning.”

“If you expect me to do anything other than dropping into sleep when I hit those sheets, I better shower and try to restore my energy,” Napoleon said. With the cupboards clean, Napoleon stood up while he grabbed the apron off the floor. “I’ll throw this in with our clothes to be washed. I suppose there’s no harm in it getting mixed in with our things, is there?”

He watched Illya to try to judge if his partner would surprise him with the fantasy again on another occasion, except inside of one of their cramped apartments. “I see no harm,” Illya simply replied, not even turning his head to acknowledge Napoleon.

Grabbing his suit jacket and tie off the chair, Napoleon started to walk out of the kitchen. Illya called after him, “Napoleon.”

The American agent turned around to see his partner. Illya’s hands still stayed in the sink to keep from dripping, but he turned his head to face him. With his face straight and blank, Illya said nothing right away, causing Napoleon to wonder if Illya thought about how much he would miss this place. Sure, it was for a job, and everyone at work considered it a joke, even themselves. But it was different, being together in this space meant for couples and families – a space they both shared, teasing each other about chores and making love in a bed that was neither one or the other’s, but both of theirs. With their toothbrushes and shampoos and laundry mixed together, since neither would need to worry about quickly grabbing it to leave the next morning.

Napoleon dreaded packing up the next morning.

“The soufflé,” Illya said. “You need to try it.”

Illya must have noticed some disappointment on Napoleon’s face because he said, “I am a good cook. You’ll surprise yourself and like it.”

Napoleon realized in that moment he hoped Illya wanted to talk about the things running through his mind – things that he thought were Illya’s concerns, but were actually his own. He was the one that dreaded leaving. He was the one that wanted more. Illya just wanted to win an argument and play out a sexual fantasy.

“After my shower,” Napoleon said.

Illya gave Napoleon a half-smile, perhaps sensing something unsettled his partner, but knowing better than to pry into his life. Napoleon knew sometimes he had to weasel Illya into talking about his concerns aloud, just as Illya knew Napoleon tended to speak frankly and if he held it in, it was meant to stay in.

So Napoleon turned around to leave the kitchen, ending the additional silent conversation between them.

Illya said, “Don’t forget about it.”

Napoleon gave Illya a wave to keep from turning around. He couldn’t lift the frown off his face, not yet. He replied, “Don’t worry, I won’t forget.” He wouldn’t forget this place. Not quickly, and not easily.

**Author's Note:**

> _originally posted on xisney.net_
> 
>   
>  Art by Elee! You can find more of her work at her [Y!Gallery Account](http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/user/chocolateisforever/), [tumblr](http://eleedoesart.tumblr.com/), and [DeviantArt](http://chocolateisforever.deviantart.com/)!


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